You Know Who, Etc
by Queen of Anonymity
Summary: About 15 years after Harry graduates from Hogwarts, Voldemort accidentally turns himself into a walking thesaurus. Literally. Meaning a little book on legs that always speaks in synonyms. He now must ask a certain wizard for help. REVIEW PLEASE!
1. Chapter 1

This story takes place about ten years after Harry graduates (still alive) from Hogwarts. Harry is now considered the single best wizard in the world. However, he has developed a major ego problem. Voldemort (who is also still alive and retains a human form) also has a large ego problem, as you shall soon find out. However, since Voldemort regained human form, his spells have been less powerful and Voldemort is having trouble…

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN IT! I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Voldemort (sob). I do not own anything else even remotely related to the wizarding world. The synonyms of "Voldemort" were created by my friend NameWeAreTooCowardlyToSay. Go to her page if you want to know what her website where she lists all the synonyms of words from HP is. I can't remember it. By the way, the idea of a thesaurus and the way they speak in synonyms came in part from Garth Nix's Keys to the Kingdom series. I don't own that either. I also don't own Webster's Unabridged Thesaurus. I don't even know if it exists!

REVIEW PEOPLE! This is my first actual fanfic that I've written without the aid of another brilliant fanfic author. (NameWeAreTooCowardlyToSay, don't get a swelled head, please.) This means that you are to REVIEW.

And now, without further ado, THE STORY…

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Harry Potter stood in front of a six-foot-tall, four-foot-wide mirror in his preposterously large house, admiring his reflection. Except for that Voldemort issue back at Hogwarts and occasional arguments with Dumbledore—the headmaster of Hogwarts was being _too_ bold, saying that he should be more humble and even spend more of his time getting rid of Voldemort!—he had a very peaceful life since the same wizard who had made his Hogwarts years absolute agony murdered his parents. (Oh well; Harry was sure that they deserved it.) However, that was about to change. Because just then came a knock at the door.

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The infamous Voldemort had not had very good luck lately. Since finally reclaiming human form, the evil wizard's magic had slowly been getting worse and worse until, finally, the impossible happened. While attempting to practice a simple Summoning Charm on a thesaurus (his vocabulary had been worsening as well), what had Voldemort done? He had indeed summoned it. Yes, he had. That was the good news. However, he had also managed to get stuck inside the thesaurus. _Oh, the shock…_ Things got worse. He had attempted to get rid of the thesaurus and accidentally turned himself into the thesaurus! Poor, poor little Voldie was in tears for nearly a week. Not even his favorite snack foods could console him! And that was why Voldemort now found himself waiting at the door of the greatest wizard in the world in the hopes that he would be able to help him, save him, assist him, rescue him from his current predicament. He would, certainly. Because _no one_ would refuse to help the great Dark Lord!

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Grumbling about the people who sold things door-to-door and using some rude words, as well as muttering even more vehemently and using even _ruder_ words about the insolence of someone _daring_ to disturb the great Harry Potter, Harry went to the door and opened it. However, no one was there. He looked about in annoyance for several seconds and started to close the door. "Here," squeaked an impossibly high-pitched voice from somewhere below Harry's sightline. Harry looked and exclaimed, "What the _hell_ is _that_?"

"That" seemed to be a book on legs. It also had little arms and hands. And…was that a _face?_ Bold words across the thing's body proclaimed, "Webster's Unabridged Thesaurus." Harry wasn't sure exactly what a thesaurus was, not having much occasion to use one. He never wrote anything; the house elves did that. In fact, he hadn't so much as written a single word except for his name in over a year. (At this point, in a faraway country, a fanfiction writer named Asvoria Granger the Thirteenth pondered if he even knew _how_ to write anymore. He wasn't so great at it to start with.)

The…_thing_…sighed and said clearly, "Voldemort, You Know Who, the Dark Lord, the Great Dark Lord, He Who Must Not Be Named, Voldiebutt, Name We Are Too Cowardly To Say Because We Are All Cowardly Farts, Et Cetera."

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First chapter complete! As with my other story, (well, sort mine) the first chapter's really dull and short. It's just sort of an introduction more than anything. So don't kill the poor writer! runs from evil readers throwing stones Stay tuned; I promise that the next chapter will be more exciting!

Wait. I almost forgot….

REVIEW!

(And I didn't mean it about the evil readers!)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two. I really don't have much to say at the moment. To the very few people who reviewed: Thank you. To the people who didn't review: REVIEW!

Disclaimer: I disclaim it all.

"AAAAH!" Yelled Harry, grabbing a passing house-elf and using him to beat at Voldemort.

"AAAH!" Yelled the house-elf, whose name was Dobby and who had been working for Harry for several years now.

"AAAH!" Yelled Voldemort.

They continued yelling like lunatics until they were all out of breath. Finally, Harry calmed down slightly and glared at Voldemort. "Well?" he demanded irritably. "What do you want?"

Voldemort trembled slightly, if books can tremble. "I need help, assistance, support," he whined, bruised by Dobby's hard head. For once, Harry Potter remembered his manners. Though it was really the thought of the Dark Lord asking _him_ for help that swelled his ego enough to make him be polite. "Why don't you come in?" he asked self-importantly. "Wait!" It has just occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, he didn't want Voldemort wandering around in his house. He ran thirty feet to a counter, panting from the strenuous exercise, and grabbed the first object that he could use to transport the Dark Lord harmlessly to his office, where Voldemort _might_ be able to flatter him enough to make him agree to help with whatever it was. Unfortunately, Voldemort did not like his choice of an object.

"I am _not_ sitting in a Barnes and Noble shopping bag!" he hollered at the top of his lungs. "It's not tainted by literacy," Harry argued as, in a faraway country, a certain fanfiction writer pondered whether Harry needed something thrown at his large head. Or maybe just some schooling. "I don't carry books in it or anything. The house-elf uses it to carry firewood." "All the same," complained Voldemort. "It's…demeaning! Humiliating! Mortifying! Unheard-of! I shall _not_ be carried in that…. _Thing!_" Harry scratched his head, wondering what the word _demeaning_ meant. He wasn't so sure about _mortifying_ either.

"It's this or I'll order my house-elf to use you as kindling! See if you wish you'd accepted my kind offer of being carried in a book bag when you burn!" Harry screamed at the book. (Oh, my, is Harry a pyromaniac?)

Voldemort acquiesced unhappily and hoped that none of his Death Eaters were there to see. Harry donned large rubber gloves and removed the "piece of filth" (Voldemort had the same kind thoughts about Harry) to his extremely durable office. Harry had had to have a team of overpaid builders—the ones who built Azkaban—spend _weeks_ designing just that office alone; he tended to throw things when he was angry and needed an _extremely_ durable workspace.

"So," said Harry once they were in his office, "What brings you to ask the greatest wizard in the world for help?"

Voldemort glared. "I'm a _thesaurus_!" Harry blinked. "What's a thesaurus?" Voldemort only sighed. "Oh, never mind," he said grumpily. I'm a _book_¸ and it's humiliating. I want you to help me."

Harry shrugged. "What's in it for me?" he wanted to know. Harry Potter could _never_ consider doing anything for anybody just out of sheer generosity. Oh no, of course not!

"Uh," Voldemort said, thinking quickly. Luckily, as he was intelligent, he thought of something quickly. "You can have this story published in the _Daily Prophet_," he suggested helpfully. "People will talk about my ineptitude, and your generosity and skillfulness at spells, for decades." This wouldn't actually happen, of course. Voldemort resolved to find some way to prevent this from ever happening, but restoring himself to a less embarrassing, and _taller_, state came first. Voldemort disliked being short.

"Oh, all right," Harry said, pleased by the offer in spite of himself. "Because I'm the greatest and kindest and most skilled and most generous and…" he continued this way for a while, head metaphorically swelling with every word, before getting to the point "…wizard in the world, I'll help you." He stood there proudly, waiting for Voldemort to praise and thank him, but Voldemort said nothing. Bored by Harry's monotonous speech, he had fallen asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Why isn't anyone reviewing this story? Evil.

Disclaimer: Shall I list the things that I don't own? Lets see…I don't own Harry Potter. I don't own Voldemort. I don't own Webster's Unabridged Thesaurus or even know if it exists. I don't own Dobby. I don't own ANYTHING! There! Is that good enough? And I never WILL own anything, so if I forget the disclaimer in a later chapter, my readers (even the ones who don't review!) will know that I still own… _nothing!_ And NO, I don't mean Nothing as in the Keys to the Kingdom. But that really doesn't matter at the moment; not only do I not own it, but it's not even from the book that this fanfic is based on, so…well…I don't own it. Or anything else.

Chapter Three now begins!

Harry looked at the sleeping book and grew very angry. It had been very difficult to give that speech and he wanted acknowledgement! He hollered for the house-elf to bring some water. When his orders were obeyed, he took the offered glass of water and dumped it on Voldemort, who awoke, startled. "AAAHHHH!" the so-called Dark Lord screeched. "I'm wet! Soaked! Drenched! I'm a _book_! Soon I'll get _soggy!_ Mushy! Squelchy! I am _waterlogged_!" Harry laughed evilly. Unfortunately, wet books were not as flammable as dry books. However, it was satisfying all the same. He was just deciding what to do with the thesaurus when there was a loud explosion. The cause of the explosion was a fanfiction author millions of miles away, who was having trouble thinking of a plot and decided that a new Dark Lord should come into the story. At the moment, Dark Lord II was apparently catapulting large objects that were on fire at Harry Potter's house. However, our characters did not know that, so back to the story.

Harry Potter and the sodden object that was Voldemort screamed loudly, busting Dobby's eardrums. Poor, poor Dobby. Luckily, he knew how to read lips… sort of.

"Run!" yelled Harry. Dobby didn't think that having the house blown up was a lot of fun, but he decided to just do what Harry did. Which seemed to be running toward the exit of the house. Voldemort was having some trouble, but somehow was managing to drag himself along the floor.

"We're going to die!" yelled Harry.

"Can't they bring the pie to us?" hollered Dobby.

"I can't move fast, rapidly, quickly, speedily enough!" screamed Voldemort.

"My house is being destroyed!" yelled Harry.

Dobby blinked. "Why would someone employ your house? How so? And why are they blowing it up first?"

"I need help, assistance, support, aid, succor!" whined Voldemort.

"I don't care, I just want to save myself!" Harry shouted in reply.

Dobby's lip reading skills were getting better. He wrenched the shelf that Harry seemed to want to save from the wall and, tripping every few steps, carried it to the door, which he was nearing.

"I'm getting mushier and squishier and I'm having trouble moving, stirring, employing motion!" called Voldemort weakly.

"_It's tracking water all over my hardwood floors!_" Harry screeched, angrier than ever at this newest turn of events. However, it no longer mattered, because they were outside the house. And before them, holding a wand, stood…

"Draco Malfoy?" all three chorused.

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Ha ha! A cliffhanger! And I'm not updating until I have at least ten reviews! That's not asking a lot, is it? So…

REVIEW! Or I'll sic my gremlin army on you! (By the way, I don't own gremlins either. Well, metaphorically, but all the same, I don't own gremlins. Don't know who does, though.)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4! Sorry it took so long to update. School was being evil—we were having finals for the trimester. How evil…

Disclaimer: If I were in a patient mood, then I would explain, using short words because anyone who can't understand that I don't own Harry Potter can't be very intelligent, that I don't own anything related to Harry Potter or anything else. However, I am not in a patient mood, so I hereby proclaim that I renounce any ownership of the award-winning series known as Harry Potter, or the person/movie bearing the same name, and that anyone who thinks that I do own it is a numbskull. No offense.

To those who were expecting me to use longer words for the geniuses among you: no comment. I simply meant that I would use even shorter words. If possible.

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The three were alarmed. Very alarmed. Wouldn't anyone be alarmed if Draco Malfoy randomly showed up and blew up their house? Especially considering that he seemed to be randomly floating in the air and that he was wearing very, very strange garments.

Strange indeed. Over black and silver wizard robes, he wore a bright blue cape. He wore furry, neon orange gloves and matching boots. His wand was even stranger: it seemed to glow with a strange luminescence and had a very, very, VERY bright hue of the lime green sort.

"Who are you?" demanded Harry Potter, as Voldemort suddenly realized:

"You're wearing a _cape_!"

Malfoy frowned at the book. "Of course I'm wearing a cape."

"You can't wear a cape!"

"Yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"Can so."

"Cannot."

"Can."

"Can't."

"Can."

"YOU CAN'T BECAUSE I SAY YOU CAN'T, SO SHUT UP!"

"Well then, WHY can't I wear a cape?"

"Because only _I _can wear a cape! I am the one and only Dark Lord! And only the Dark Lord can wear a cape!"

Malfoy seemed to consider this and pondered out loud. "Of course I'm not the Dark Lord. Am I? No, I'm not. It's too clichéd… But I'm wearing a cape…a very nice cape it is too. Do you like blue?" He asked Harry suddenly. Harry was slowly backing away. However, Malfoy did not seem to notice. "I like blue a lot. Am I the Dark Lord? No, because You-Know-Who's the Dark Lord. And I'm not You-Know-Who. Because I don't even know who. And if I don't know who I am, then you can't know who. Probably. So I must be someone else. You-Don't-Know-Who? No, because once I tell you that I'm You-Don't-Know-Who then you will know who and I won't be You-Don't-Know-Who anymore, but then you won't know who, so then I will be again, and then… IT'S TOO CONFUSING! MAKE THE VOICES SHUT UP!" At this point, he hit himself on the head with his wand. Harry, Dobby, and Voldemort shrank away noticeably. "The Dark Lord Two? No, I don't like that. Besides, if I were the Dark Lord, I'd have to wear dark colors. And I don't like dark colors. So, then I must be…" his voice trailed off and he stood there silently. (Oh, dear, Malfoy seems to have serious issues. Poor, poor Malfoy. Multiple personalities, perhaps?)

Dobby was having trouble telling what this rant was about. He had, however, deciphered the one sentence that had been asked of his master. For some reason, Malfoy wanted to know if Harry liked Winnie the Pooh. Or was it just poo? He didn't think that Malfoy had randomly started making the noises of a certain farm animal, so that left poo or Pooh.

Harry was frightened of this strange individual and was sweating like another farm animal that was not the one that Dobby thought that Malfoy might possibly be making the noises of. He squeaked slightly, wanting to be far, far away.

Voldemort was worried as well and wanted Malfoy to get rid of the cape and the gloves. Orange was Voldemort's least favorite color and he didn't like other people wearing capes. It made them seem to commonplace. And what if he took away Voldemort's name? It just wouldn't be the same with a second Dark Lord. And what was that about his title being clichéd? So unfair…

However, Voldemort put aside his thoughts for a few moments to ask:

"So what are you calling yourself now?"

Malfoy looked startled; he seemed to have forgotten the presence of others besides himself. "Um…" then his confusion cleared up. "I," Draco Malfoy said, flourishing his cape, "am the BLUE LORD!"

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Strange indeed it is. Hopefully the next chapter will be more interesting. However, I sort of need plot ideas—I need to tie in this whole Blue Lord thing with Voldie's little dilemma. Any suggestions are welcome!

Readers of The Ultimate Cross-Over: sorry about the lack of updates. We're currently suffering from computer trouble on that one. Not sure exactly how—inquire of NameWeAreTooCowardlyToSay as to the exact nature of the problem.

However, please REVIEW! No one's reviewing and Asvoria Granger the Thirteenth is very sad! No more updates until I get at least one more review!


	5. Chapter 5

Finally, Chapter Five! Sorry about the seemingly indefinite lack of updates. They should be more frequent from now on, hopefully.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't own Dobby. I don't own Voldemort. I don't own Webster's Unabridged Thesaurus. I don't own St. Mungo's. I don't own Malfoy. I don't own anything, okay?

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Dobby stared at Draco Malfoy, who had just called himself the New Dork, feeling sorry for him. "It's okay," he said sympathetically. "You're not a dork. Just… well, disturbed. But that's okay; there are _lots_ of people like you at St. Mungo's."

Harry just stared at his former classmate. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

Voldemort was upset. He was also having trouble formulating coherent thoughts, as he was unable to get through even a single sentence without listing at least eight synonyms of each word that he thought. This tended to result in run-on sentences.

At last, Harry cleared his throat. Malfoy, who had raised his arms to the sky and was cackling maniacally, jumped. "Oh," he said sheepishly. "You're not one of the voices!"

Harry ignored this and inquired, "Would you mind telling me what this is about?"

"Er…" Malfoy considered this. "I dunno… I think that I want to take over the world. Yes, that's right!" He beamed. "And I have just the means to do it. Inside this wand…" he tapped his wand dramatically... "I have placed a number of things. Not least, powdered gravestones. Oh, and a piece of the cauldron that little Webster used to create a potion to restore himself to power. Ingenious!" He smiled craftily, then cocked his head as if listening to someone. "Oh, you think so, too, Bob? You were always my favorite." He patted the side of his head lovingly.

Poor ickle Voldemort scowled. "Shut up, be silent, still your damn tongue, and quit the jabber about the voices! You're insane! Loco! Crazy! Mad! And you belong at a muggle mental institution! Besides, why are you coming to tell us?"

Malfoy looked surprised. "Why, so that you can know that you'll never stop me, of course. So that you'll know that you failed in stopping my plot to take over and eventually destroy the world. What's that, Humphrey?" he was silent for a moment before he smiled. "Why, thanks for reminding me. He grinned widely at Voldemort, Harry, and Dobby. Humphrey, here" he gestured to his head- "just reminded me that I forgot to tell you about my horcruxes. I've got several, not the least of which is my wand. And…" suddenly, he began to chant and gesture at Voldemort with his wand. This lasted for close to a minute, with the threesome who were not trying to take over the world at the moment too petrified to move. At last, Malfoy lowered his wand and staggered tiredly. "It is done. The book's now my latest horcrux." He grinned evilly, as Voldemort grew pale. If that's possible. "You can't stop me without killing him! Toodles!" And with that, he disappeared, leaving Voldiepoo—er, Voldemort—and the others stunned beyond speaking.

A high-pitched scream jerked Harry and Voldemort from their present state of stupefaction. "Poodles!" screamed Dobby. "Nooooo! Save me! Save me! I don't like dogs!" He grabbed onto Harry's shoe and sobbed hysterically. Harry responded by shaking his foot, launching Dobby through the air to crash head-first into the pavement. The house-elf was silent.

Harry was stunned as his none-too-large brain tried to process what was going on. "Uh…" he muttered. "Er… so… what do we do?" He vaguely recalled something Malfoy had said. "I suppose we can't do anything. We can't stop him."

Voldemort seemed to be gazing into the distance with eyes as big as Dobby's. Well, at the moment, Dobby's eyes weren't that big, because they were rolled up into the back of his head. Voldemort said slowly, "Yes, there is. There is a way."

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Review people! Sorry if this was sort of a weird chapter. I was having trouble with this particular part of the plot line. Expect the next chapter to be funny and star mainly Dobby and Voldemort.

Sorry that the Ultimate Cross-Over hasn't been updated recently. NameWeAreTooCowardlyToSay's computer died. Quite literally. Stupid viruses… So, anyway, it deleted what we had of the next chapter. Expect an update eventually, though.


	6. Chapter 6

Yes, I'M BACK! There is a slight reference to _the Wheel of Time_ by Robert Jordan in this chapter. I'm not sure who all will catch it, but anyway…

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't own the Wheel of Time, and I'm not Robert Jordan. I'm not JK Rowling either, by the way, no matter how much I wish I was.

I'm not Voldemort either. Just thought I'd mention it.

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Harry stared at Voldemort. "What?" he thundered. Voldemort nodded nervously. "Yes, of course, sure, affirmative." Harry glared at him. "Well, _what is it?"_ Voldemort winced. "Well, er, um, you see, it's a spell, a working of magic." It became clear that Harry wanted a more complete explanation; Voldemort sighed. "I invented it. Well, sort of. Actually, I thought of the idea and Snape, er, completed it for me."

Harry nodded sympathetically. "Yes, yes, I understand completely what it's like to be a loser and unable to accomplish anything by yourself."

Voldemort nodded. "That's right. I mean—no! _That's wrong! Incorrect! Rubbish! It's--" _ at this point, he shook his head. The Great Lord had learned long ago to stop with the synonyms before he got into the harder ones. The Potter boy wouldn't understand them. Anyway-- Voldemort sighed. "There's a spell. It will forever remove from the world the one whom I use it on. Mwahaha. I call it balefire. And Robert Jordan can't sue me. Because it was never published. Really. And it would have been illegal anyway, so—I'm babbling, aren't I? Anyway… It calls for some ingredients, but I have those at my hideout." He walked over to a nearby payphone that just happened to be beside the road, sneaking as if suspecting a dementor to jump out from a nearby tree and accuse him of plagiarism at any second.

"Yes!" Harry laughed maniacally. "A spell! A spell!" Never having read anything longer than a few pages in one of his school textbooks, Harry obviously didn't realize that Voldemort's idea for a spell came from the Wheel of Time. Ingenious, eh, when you can copy the works of genius muggles?

Voldemort sighed and looked up at the monstrously large phone booth before him. He jumped, trying to reach the phone. "I'm too short!" He wailed. I HATE being short!"

Harry picked up the phone. "Do you have any money? And why do you need a phone?"

Voldemort frowned. "No I don't have any money. Just use a spell on the phone. Illegal, but it'll work. And we need a phone because I need someone to come get us to take us to the hideout." The phone number is 555-I AM EVIL." Harry wrinkled his brow, confused. He had always wondered how phone numbers could have letters in them. It just didn't make any sense at all.

Voldemort sighed, silently resolving to magically give this idiot a brain transplant before he killed him. "555-426-3845." There was a moan from a few yards away as Dobby woke up. Voldemort ignored him. Harry ignored him as well.

Harry dialed the phone with only a few pauses where he tried to remember which symbol stood for which number. He had never done very well in math back at that muggle school. He'd averaged about an F-. Maybe it was just his imagination, but that really didn't seem such a very good grade.

The phone rang once and someone picked up the phone. "Lo Mein China Grill! Please may I help you?" In reply, Harry growled a _very_ rude word and hung up the phone before proceeding to bang his head with his wand. Luckily, the wand was very durable; he had found that this was a necessity after he broke his first fourteen in fits of anger.

Dobby, whose lip-reading skills were as good as ever, blinked. "Hungry already, master? I didn't know that you like duck. I'll run and fetch some!" He tried to run off, but Harry threw his wand at the poor house-elf, stopping him in his tracks. "I DON'T LIKE DUCK!" Hastily reclaiming his wand, he wrote that phrase in glowing pink letters across the street. Dobby, being a _very_ intelligent house-elf, interpreted his master's current mood and decided to shut up.

Voldemort sighed. "Very well, we'll have to travel by Floo Powder. I just hope that I'm not flammable." Harry smiled maliciously, hoping that he _was_ flammable.

Just then, Harry blinked. "Wait, _what_ do we need the spell for?"

Voldemort sighed again. He seemed to do this a lot lately. Ignoring the stupid, idiotic, imbecilic, nitwitted, unintelligent "greatest wizard in the world," Voldemort began the trek down the cobblestone street to the Leaky Cauldron. Which was a long way for a book.

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Sorry for my long absence! I'm back now. I know that I said this last time, but expect more frequent updates. I think that after this story is complete in a few chapters, I'll write that romance that my muse won't leave me alone about. Personally, I think that my muse has been reading too much Romeo and Juliet while watching Pirates of the Caribbean. _(giggle.)_

Until the next chapter,

Her Imperial Majesty Lady Pirate Captain Asvoria Artemis Granger the Thirteenth, Mighty Queen of the Realm of Anonymity


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